


In Effigy

by Servetolive



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: AU, Blood and Gore, Dismemberment, Gen, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Revenge, Sexual Sadism, Violence, dark!data, dark!lal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 12:33:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12108828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Servetolive/pseuds/Servetolive
Summary: During an ongoing investigation of possible misconduct, Bruce Maddox receives a vivid message from the three androids who escaped his care.





	In Effigy

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Tell Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/248688) by [ImpishTubist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpishTubist/pseuds/ImpishTubist). 



> Accompanying artwork by [Gorrlaus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Gorrlaus/pseuds/Gorrlaus) is [here](https://jaebarren.tumblr.com/image/164930008384).

It didn’t matter that red lights had been on for three days, or that the facility had not required any use of a “red alert” status in years; the reason for which, he couldn’t be bothered to recall. Commander Maddox would never get used to the blaring crimson slicing through the blue-grey sterility that he had become accustomed to at science bases. Nor could he reconcile with the sight of officers and crewmen in security-gold, trotting through the halls with phaser rifles at the low-ready.

This was, for the first time in his career, the last place he had wanted to be.  It was more than the heightened security or the ongoing investigation nipping at his heels.

As was a particularly despised habit by him, and those under his command, Maddox kept his eyes fixed to the floor as he speedwalked to his office and the relief he would find in his desk, desperately willing all who passed him to treat him as air. His fever had pitched that morning; his body was not responding well to the bio-engineered articulations that connected the nerves in his newly installed radius. He, as Dr. Iona had instructed, did his hand exercising, balling them into fists and then outstretching the fingers as he pushed forward.

He must have looked absolutely mad.

So many techs that he knew and often worked with passed him in the hall without so much as the greeting of the day. In fact, they scampered past him, as if all had the single mind to pretend to have somewhere to be; as if the Inspector General had not put a halt to production for the week.

“Bruce!”

She hadn’t quite whispered, but her voice assumed a reserved quality that she had yet to use before. It was as if she didn’t want anyone to know she was addressing him.

For his assistant, Maddox stopped in his tracks and picked up his head. Every time a Klaxon flashed red, they eliminated the highlights from facial features. It left the Deltan with more hollow contours than became her. Her choice in lipstick didn’t help either—every time it went dark, a black void displaced the attractive aperture of her lips, and the slight, almond slant of her eyes tore into wide gaps.

“Oda? Thank God.” The space between them closed with her hands immediately cupping his moist cheeks; he closed his eyes and leaned into the cool touch.

“You’re burning up.” Maddox opened his eyes when he felt the pinch of a hypospray hissing into his neck. “This won’t last long—don’t touch them!”

She nearly swatted his right hand from its trajectory toward his left forearm. “For once, I’m glad these uniforms are so modest.  Are you bruising?”

In response, Maddox pulled his sleeve up to show her the affected web of pulsating ulnar arteries. The localized swelling made them push against his skin, giving it a shiny, taut appearance.  Quickly, she pulled the sleeve back down.

“You haven’t slept,” he remarked.

“No, I haven’t. And neither will you. I have bad news.”

Sighing, Maddox stepped off again in his original direction, certain that she would follow. “Can it wait until I can get something in me?”

She remained put.

“The Inspector General is here.”

Maddox stopped.  IG had already been there; a second appearance by the Admiral would mean something more disconcerting than a few lost hand receipts. “Again?”

“Not just him,” Iona continued, a harrowing weight in her voice. Maddox wanted so badly for the cautionary tone to merely be the exhaustion of being grilled all the previous night. “Internal Affairs. CID.”

“Shit.” Maddox whirled and took the Deltan by her shoulders.

Before he could formulate a question, she conceded—by way of the panic in their voice—that they were not in control; that they should begin considering themselves as hunted as they had failed to realize with every warning sign before.

“Bruce, we _have_ to leave. We’re both about to lose our commissions anyway, and when that happens--”

“Did they find the prototype?”

“They found a _video.”_ Iona pulled herself from Bruce’s grip as she caught a stray ensign passing them an odd, sidelong glance as she moved along the hall. “Any moment now, they’re going to ask you to—“

The chime came through that instant, slicing through the doctor’s prediction.

_“Haftel to Maddox.”_

Maddox swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes shut, as if doing so would allow the fever reducer to work its way through his systems before he would have to face the unknown degree of descent that would befall his career—his shortcomings, his accomplishments, his _life_ —in the somber company of his own chain of command, and Starfleet’s law enforcement.

Maddox tapped his combadge.

“This is Maddox.”

_“Your presence is required in my office._ ”

_Flowery language for him,_ he Maddox mused. He hadn’t yet thought of an excuse to delay—even a few seconds would have made the difference—before responding, but Haftel didn’t give him the chance.

_“_ Now, _Maddox.”_

From the sound of it, Haftel wasn’t even angry. He should have been, for major property loss investigations at an institute with prestige so weighty caused a red-tape nightmare that even high brass couldn’t delegate to their minions. But there was no hiding the apprehension and suspicion there, even through the intercom. It wasn’t really _he_ that wanted to see him; the urgency he conveyed was for the benefit of other parties.

“I’m… we’re on our way.”

\--

He hated feeling like the child across the headmaster’s desk, but that was the most appropriate sentiment as he and his assistant slid into Haftel’s packed office.  The tension could have bred moisture from the lights. The admiral had given his seat to the Inspector General—a severe, bald man whose hard-lined mouth bore some otherworldly resemblance to what could be a love-child between Captain Sisko and the Vulcan security officer, Tuvok.

The conditions had it so that he was squeezed in next to Haftel before the desk; Dr. Iona directly behind him and to the right, and an unknown, female officer in command red with orange-blonde hair and glasses to his left. She turned briefly to look at him, before returning her disaffected attention to the terminal on the desk.

Haftel began, “Commander, this is Lieutenant Commander Zeller from the Criminal Investigation Division.”

It was the only introduction she needed.

“Commander,” she muttered over her shoulder. He cleared his throat in response; she seemed to expect—nor desire—nothing more. Since parade rest seemed to be the preferred position at this gathering, Maddox made sure to lock his hands behind the small of his back in this daft show of deference to his superiors. During this time, he managed to sneak a glance in Haftel’s direction—to observe his demeanor—but his square jaw was locked into place and he kept his eyes toward the widescreen monitor that was just a couple of meters over and behind the IG’s left shoulder.

Nobody seemed inclined to make rounds of handshakes; there was no atmosphere for the dispelling of accolades and previous postings.  A few moments later, the commandant, Rear Admiral Marroquin—an ornery man of middling age, height and stature, who could rarely be found at a social function, let alone a matter of any serious consideration—had entered the room with his adjutant following closely behind, PADD in hand, ready to record.  In fact, everyone but he, the doctor, and his superior had a PADD tucked somewhere. The splattering of red and gold among the less prominent blue would have been most unnerving to him, had he not been so focused on putting the pain of his last transplant out of mind.

Haftel did not bother introducing the commandant, and nobody else said anything about the Vulcan ensign who entered shortly after, with a sealed bag in her gloved hand.

“Commander Zeller,” the Inspector General’s rumbled gravely. “You might commence, now.”

“Sir,” Zeller offered in acknowledgement, before turning to face Maddox and his crew.

 “We intercepted this sub-space transmission yesterday, before it arrived at your personal workstation IP,” Zeller began. Bruce nearly cringed at her gravely voice. She was pretty; two heads shorter than him and petite, with a phaser on her hip that didn’t seem threatening until she had opened her mouth.  She made sure to make eye contact with all relevant parties as she spoke, never lingering on her _true_ subject, remaining as impassive as possible. “It contains two videos: one, in the first person of… what I would assume is the visual record of your machine.” 

Maddox swallowed hard at this. He was sure the entire room saw it, and resisted the urge to let cool air into his uniform by fingering the collar around his tunic.

“The other comes from a static security apparatus in the perpetrators’ possession.”

“You’re monitoring my communications?” Maddox wasn’t surprised, and he disappointed himself with his feeble attempt to seem so at that critical time.

Zeller rolled over him, using pronouns as if she were speaking to him, but making no effort to make sure he felt engaged with her.

“Considering your past history with Commander Data, we thought it would be in the investigation’s best interest to show you the videos in their entirety. We will follow up the viewing with questions as needed,” she turned to look at Haftel. “Given your full cooperation on this, sir.”

As Bruce shook his head quickly, Haftel answered for him. “Which you have.”

“I’m sorry— _videos_?”

“If it holds any weight with you, Commander,” the Admiral said as he folded his arms across the gold lining of his tunic, “I haven’t seen this either. Just a few minutes of it.”

“I don’t understand.” He seemed to be reacting to everything a half-step slower than usual.

“Ensign Semar,” Zeller nodded to her assistant, and the younger woman came forth to type her username and password into the LCARS system.

“I have never logged onto this terminal,” the ensign muttered, uselessly. Maddox rolled his eyes. “I apologize if it takes a while.”

“Can’t you just use your thumbprint?” Maddox seethed, impatiently. Semar made no indication towards revealing what was in the evidence bag, and Maddox resolved not to let it distract him.

She remained unperturbed. “I am sorry, Commander, but CID regulations do not permit me to leave a thumb on file at locations that are not frequently visited.”

“Never mind.”

“It will only be a few more… There. I will have have it project to the large monitor.”

At that, the IG whirled around in Haftel’s chair, and the collective focus went to the wall.

The Federation coat of arms blipped on first, then gave way to a split screen visual—both sides with their respective time stamps, tracking meters, and playback records.

The picture on the right side came into focus slightly undersaturated: a man sitting in a chair dressed in a science-teal wrap, the focal point of three other figures. Apparently, the recording apparatus sat at a high corner of the room; the contents had been staged so that all four—and their behaviors—could be observed, at about a ten meter distance from where the man sat.

There was static that had not been filtered, and the quality of the video was too poor to greatly discern minute details of the participants’ faces.

But not so poor that any observer in the room could not clearly comprehend the identities of the creatures walking about, and that whoever was sitting in the chair possessed a sharp part in his hair that anyone at the Daystrom would associate immediately with Maddox.

As the left side of the screen remained black, the gynoid was seen to be walking towards and to the right of the camera, along the way removing her top to reveal the unusual, t-shaped undergarment that was customary on Gandria—the system he had left her on. It covered the majority of her breasts, and the smooth strip of skin from her neck to her navel before disappearing into her pants.  Her face came into focus as she seemed to be accessing something out of visual range—a replicator, perhaps—and she dropped her item of clothing into a corner on the ground.

Lal was unreadable. She may as well have been getting a coffee, but instead came away from the wall a with a metal baseball bat.

As she tested the bat’s efficiency with a few practice swings in the air, the so-called “Twins” tended to other matters.  Lore—who Maddox immediately recognized, by way of knowing that Data would never dare to wear anything that revealed his arms and shoulders—stood up from behind the chair after releasing the look-alike’s hands from their bonds.

Data, dressed in the familiar all-black required of those officers assigned to night missions, seemed in every way his usual self.  He was closest to the door, consulting a tricorder, not a single movement wasted.

Lore looked over to his brother and uttered the first words on the recording.

_“How long?_ ”

_“This is its inaugural activation._ ” There was nothing missing from his voice, and nothing sinister added. As far as could be told, it was Lieutenant Commander Data, devoid of any strange, foreign alterations to his personality. “ _It will go into hibernation for a short period of time, and then sleep until it is addressed.”_

Maddox unfolded his and arms brought one hand to rest against his mouth, in an attempt to appear to be in deep contemplation only about the unfolding events on the video.

He did not want others to see the virulent embarrassment washing over him that not one, or two, but all _three_ of his hard-won charges, as well as his own original creation, had gotten away from him.

_“Why all the preamble?”_ Lal put all of her functions into one final swing, which audibly whipped through the air so hard that the ends of her hair whipped back with the displaced air. _“Is he expecting an audience?_ ” The idea seemed to be amusing to her.

_“That is a good question._ _It is not a particularly efficient way to—“_

_“Fuck it._ ”

Lore placed the hands of Maddox’s double into its lap and leaned back to examine it. Already, Maddox could _hear_ the poison in his smile.

_“Data, put the tricorder away already. I’m ready to get under some skin._ ”

Data obeyed, securing it to the back of his pants and moving to stand next to Lore. For a moment, Maddox hoped that Data’s behavior could be explained away by rationally by the idea that Lore had, once again, gained control over his brother. Not that it particularly mattered: neither of them were under _his_ control any longer.

Lal joined them, her hands resting on the bat as if it were some third leg between her parted feet.

_“Father, how are you feeling?”_

Data flinched as the servos in his neck reacted to unseen stimuli. His left hand momentarily found his temple.

_“I am anticipating our reunion with the Commander,”_ he said. _“…. However incomplete, the possibilities are… titillating.”_

“ _Titillating.”_ The bob-cut of Lal’s hair turned to one side in consideration. _”I like that, Father.”_

_“Gonna be able to keep it together, bro?”_

Data exhaled deeply, and tucked his chin into his chest for a brief second. He opened his eyes.

_“The answer to that is unforeseen as of yet._ ”

_“Sounds promising,”_ Lore chuckled lowly. _“Lal, pop this thing’s cherry.”_

A grin splashed across Lal’s face as she took a knife from her left ankle and used the tip of the blade to lift its chin.

Its eyelids fluttered.

His neck burning feverishly, Maddox watched as the second screen whirred to life, displaying statistical data about his replica’s functions. Lore’s words drooled through the sound emitters.

_“I think we’re gonna enjoy this._ ”

\--

The new machine’s visual’s came online, trained on the hands on its knees.  It turned them over to examine them, an action cut short by some cold, metal object forcing it to look up, and take in the three, morbidly curious faces examining it.

“Hello,” it said haplessly, mimicking Bruce Maddox’s voice perfectly without his irritating, personal affects.

“What is your designation,” the gynoid inquired, possessing an inquisitive look that was marred by suspicion and antipathy.

The new machine blinked, and then smiled, somewhat nervously.

“I see that you are holding a weapon.  There is no need.” It moved to rise. “I am only here to assist—“

The moon-colored male on the right grabbed the shoulder closest to him and forced it back down into a sitting position.

“—you,” it finished, the smile on its face melting away.  The third male looked down on him with a tight-lipped grin that issued warnings of caution into his cognitive sensors. His twin, who stood somewhat impassively in the center with a stern look on his face, was the only one who it immediately recognized.

“You are Lieutenant Commander Data,” it stated, with astonishment.

“And you are Commander Bruce Maddox, Associate Chair, Cybernetics, Daystrom Institute,” Data responded stoically.

“No,” it said. “I am L10X4, a _Maddox_ -type cybernetic organism.”

“ _Maddox_ -type,” the one on the right snickered, derisively, before dropping to one knee to, presumably, examine its eyes.

“Yes. I have not been given a proper name. Are you to perform that function for me?”

The gynoid let out a short giggle that distracted it. L1 turned its head to her, running inquiries in its central processor that scanned the angles of her face and attempted to identify her.

“I am unfamiliar with you,” it said.

She ignored it. “He tries so hard to sound like you, Father.”

“Yes,” the double said, proudly. “My creator has great admiration for you, Commander Data.”

Data’s face twitched—not in a manner that was altogether different from instances in which he was considering an interesting suggestion, but in such a way that introduced newer, menacing features to the famously stoic machine.

Like annoyance. Indignation, perhaps.

“So I have heard.”

“I suppose,” Data’s double on the right said, dipping his face down towards L1’s neck to inhale deeply through its nose. L1 shifted back into its seat, away from the near-contact. The uneasiness in its eyes replicated the real Maddox’s nervous mouse-like characteristics perfectly. “You’re unfamiliar with me as well?”

All three observed as the cyborg swallowed, its eyeballs moving side to side momentarily.

“If that is Commander Data,” it reasoned, “Then you must be the android Lore.”

Lore stood up straight and leaned his head back, as if he were trying to fight back a wave of euphoria that threatened to overtake him.

“You know,” he said to his collaborators, “I love hearing my name on trembling lips. Makes my dick hard.”

The gynoid exhaled in a huff, and leaned down to sheath her knife. “I feel offended.”

“I apologize, Miss,” L1 said, expressing a deeply sympathetic tone that caused her to quickly glance back up at him with a contemptuous look that he wanted desperately to quell. “I did not mean to cause any embarrassme—“

Suddenly, L1 found itself flat on its back, the metal chair torn from under him and landing upside down and to his side with a clatter. At the same time that the female returned to his field of vision, the cap of the bat pressed hard into his metal sternum. She kicked the chair into a corner.

“No worries,” she said with a smirk. “My father calls me Lal.”

The pressure she placed onto the bat and into the center of its body caused his vision to scramble and blur enough to initiate the reflex of him lifting one arm to push against it. Lal pushed back, harder.

“It means, ‘beloved.’ What did you say your father calls you?”

“I… do not have a father.” L1 attempted to scoot out from underneath the bat. “Please, you are crushing me—“

“Then I call you, ‘Bruce Maddox.’”

The milliseconds between pressure being released from its chest and the impact of the bat against its left cheekbone gave L1 no time to assess the nearest escape from its position. The sharp, metallic sound flooded his auditory nerves, and the vision in his left cheekbone went blank momentarily, sizzling in a purple hue before its tracking normalized.

L1 touched its face, his fingers sliding into the incision there. Disgusted, Lal stepped back.

“He’s _bleeding_.”

A purple swell formed around the open wound.

“I’ve never seen you look so horrified, Maddy,” Lore teased. “Or with your hair in disarray.”

“Wh… _what_?”

He bent down and hauled L1 up by the collar. “It’s not a bad look on you.”

With that, Lore lifted it up into the air with both hands, and slammed the center of its back down onto his knee.  He heard something give way, but nothing serious enough to merit any catastrophic failure.

L1’s face did not contort in pain; it simply appeared shocked that it could be in such a situation. As soon as Lore dumped it onto the ground, it was as if Commander Data—who had, until then, observed impassively—had suddenly been exposed to some stimuli that would activate every string of programming inside him which produced enmity and rage.

Data scooped L1 up by its shoulders and slammed him so hard against the far metal wall, next to the door, that the entire room shook.

“ _Commander_ ,” Data said through gritted teeth, his voice flavored with bitter desperation of the type that could not be reproduced by any amount of talent in software engineering.

“Explain this to me,” he said, eyes darting from point to point on the double’s face. “Explain how we have arrived at this quandary.”

L1 looked genuinely bewildered. “Has my creator committed an outrage of some kind? Commander, are you malfunctioning?”

Data talked over him. “I gave you my science logs. I gave you my specifications. I gave you my _brother_.”

L1 shook his head as Data continued. “Commander, machines _have_ no family members. I do not comprehend--“

“You took my child from me. You—“

Here, Data appeared to completely lose it. He let go of the cyborg with one hand, made a fist, and drilled it into the creature’s midsection.

“— _violated_ her.”

By then, it was apparent to all involved that L10X4 could not feel pain, but it certainly appeared to then, when its upper torso lurched forward and its eyes widened, its pliable midsection caving in.

Data flung it across the room and into the adjacent wall, causing Lore and Lal to duck out of the way.  It landed face first into the metal and then crumpled onto the ground, turning to face Data with blood and clear hydraulic fluid dripping from his nose.

“Commander,” it pleaded, scooting away as Data crossed the room to it. Along the way, he caught the hilt of Lal’s knife and pulled it from her boot.

While Lal maintained the serene smile that she was well-known for, it was Lore who seemed to be enjoying himself immensely, watching his brother annihilate any previous assumptions regarding his capabilities.

“I understand that I bear a strong resemblance to Commander Maddox,” L1 stammered. “But I am _not_ Bruce Maddox.”

“I have done much to assist you,” Data said, his voice suddenly calm, as he kneeled down next to the cyborg.  His lightly furrowed brow expressed empathy and puzzlement.

“And still, you cannot present the universe with a functioning positronic brain?”

“My brain is fermionic,” L1 stated. “It is superior to a positronic brain.”

Lal’s mocking laughter cut through the tension.

“Fermionic?” Lore snickered, one eyebrow raised. “What does that even _mean_?”

L1 began to explain, but was interrupted three words in by Data slamming the knife into his mouth and down its throat.  L1’s eyes widened again as it gurgled on blood, the left corner of its mouth splitting open from the blade’s trajectory.

“Commander,” Data went on, in a quiet voice that became more frantic as he found the words to express himself. “What will become of my daughter?” His head jerked to the side again. L1 began shaking its head to the side, until Data ceased that movement by grabbing the hilt of the knife and holding it firm. “What will become of _me_? What was your _purpose_ in all of this?”

Data’s face became so distorted with anger and grief that a distressed Lal stepped in, holding his shoulder with a gloved hand. “Father,” she said gently. “Put him down. It’s alright.”

“ _It is not alright!”_ Data roared, driving the replica into ground. The display screen whirred again with damage notifications. Blood poured from its mouth.

“ _He has_ ruined _our lives!”_

All present in the room flinched at Data’s outburst. Even the android’s two relatives were taken aback.

Data retreated from the machine, eyes wide, chest heaving: he was overheating. Lore’s own face softened, to the surprise of the observers, and he went place his hands on his brother’s shoulders. He murmured a quiet “hey,” but Data, looking past him at Maddox’s double, backpedaled into a wall and slid down against it.

A horrified Lal observed her father’s response with a look of terrible sadness and dismay, before her face hardened, and she turned her attentions onto L1 itself.

\--

“Commander, is this thing sentient?” Haftel asked.

Maddox didn’t respond. His eyes were affixed to the visual of his copy, on its back, with Lal’s booted foot pressing into its chest as she pulled her knife from his mouth. Immediately, it coughed, and its hands locked around its own throat.

“Well?”

_“Get up,”_ the gynoid sneered. From the left screen, the cyborg’s vision included Lal standing over him, looking down at him with disdain.  On the left, Lore had knelt before his brother and was appearing to offer consolation, but Data’s mouth was not moving.

L1 obeyed her.

_“_ Why isn’t it _defending_ itself?” Admiral Marroquin asked out loud, his voice rife with disgust. “Why is it just standing there?”

Lal flipped the knife so that she held it underhand, and flicked her wrist. “ _Strip_.”

_Oh, no_. Maddox thought. He heard Oda inhale deeply behind him, but did not turn to look at her. _No. Please._ _Somebody call for a break._

The cyborg was just as much unwilling to comply as Maddox would have been.

_“Miss…”_

_“Lal,”_ she said with a smirk.

_“Miss Lal,”_ it corrected itself. As he continued, the second screen showed Lore getting up from his kneeling position in front of Data and moving towards L1 from behind.

_“Why aren’t you listening to me?”_

“ _I am not programmed to perform any sexual function sufficie—“_

With his trademark wiry smirk plastered on his face, Lore suddenly grabbed L1 by its left shoulder, swung it around to face him, and punched it directly in the face. The blow was so hard that the cyborg’s legs went up into the air, and it landed four meters back, skidding along on its side until he ran into the wall opposite of Data.

“ _No kidding,”_ Lore remarked snidely as he shook his hand. _“Maddox, are you_ sure _you’re not in there somewhere?”_

With considerable effort—and this time, with the flesh on its nose torn half away by Lore’s fist, and blood pouring out of the openings—L1 attempted to stand, and finish its sentence.

_“… no… sexual programming… has been installed in my neural net.”_

“ _Hey, what do you know?”_ Lal said facetiously. “ _I didn’t have any either when I met you. Weren’t_ those _the wonder days!”_

She kicked L1 in the stomach before it could move from his hands and knees.

_“Goddamnit,_ strip!” Lal all but screeched, hovering over it with her knife in hand. She stepped over it and gathered his blood-soaked shirt in her hands to haul it up. “ _Do you need help!?”_

It was a pathetic sight, to see his own double in such a manner. Maddox’s stomach was in a constant cyclic pattern. He might have shit himself, had he eaten anything in the last thirty-six hours.

_“Lal,”_ L1 tried to scoot away from her as it used the other hand in feeble attempts to defend itself from the knife that came down at its wrap at varying angles, slicing the fabric to reveal bloodied welts. “ _What you are suggesting is impossible. My creator could not have harmed you in such a way.  You are a—“_

Lore dragged it off the floor by his shoulders and shoved it back into the wall.

“ _She’s a what_ ,” Lore dared, his hand on its throat. “ _A_ what _?”_

“— _a machine.”_ L1 answered, harmlessly, hands in the air.

Lal let out a loud laugh, directly in L1’s face. It turned to look at her, quizzically.

_“ Harmed me?’ This isn’t_ about _me, Maddox! Do you suggest that touching me up and exposing me to your pathetic, temperamental cock was enough to turn me from the light?”_

Her voice, jovial in its fury, was so unlike the weak, vulnerable creature that Haftel had delivered to Maddox so many moons ago, who sat forlornly with her hands in her lap as she awaited instructions; who wanted desperately to feel important in his research, who emulated pique turns and pirouettes in the small space of his living room for an art she would never practice again, who cried real, saline tears when she was denied the use of the computer to communicate with her father.

“ _I’m a big girl,_ ” she continued, hatred seeping in rivulets through her teeth, her brown eyes burning amber as she, too, began to overheat. “ _With two legs and a functioning_ pussy _. My father_ made me well, _didn’t he?”_

L1 appeared as if it were trying to comprehend that raw animosity that was shooting daggers from everywhere in the room in its direction. _“Lal, I do not understand your position,”_ it said quietly.

Infuriated, Lal tore it from Lore’s grip and turned it to face Data, holding its hands behind its back in a manner that would have broken both of the real Maddox’s wrists.

_“Look at him,”_ she growled ferociously, her voice reaching a demonic, low rasp. Data was still sitting on the ground, looking at the empty, bloody spot where he had left L1 before disengaging him, but with wet, gold tracks marking his troubled face. 

“ _Look at what you’ve done to him. Is this the Second Officer of the Enterprise? Is this my_ father? _”_

_“He is functioning within his establish—“_

Lore moved for the metal bat as L1 fell to the floor again.

Maddox closed his eyes. As soon as the machine opened its mouth, he knew that Lore and Lal would not allow it to finish.

He had done a markedly poor job programming his latest creation, and here it was for all the world to see, getting its head bashed in by two supposedly _inferior_ models of the past.

The left screen went on fizzling, reporting new damage to its cranial region; more skin ruptures to its arms and neck. Its head was out of the range of the camera, but the beating to its face was well documented by the cyborg’s visual record.

Lore finally dropped the bat. It rolled away from him, leaving a trail of blood and flesh in the wake of its tip.

Lal shook her head down at the thing, smiling sweetly and running a hand through her hair. “ _What are we going to do with you, cyborg?”_

_“For a hot second,”_ Lore said to his niece, placing one foot atop L1’s mouth. It’s eyes widened as he leaned more and more of his weight onto it. A blip on the left screen and a schematic drawing of L1’s skull revealed that a large split in its right cheek had occurred. _“I was considering taking this thing back with us. Using it as a pet. Target practice. Whatever.”_

Lore lifted its foot to reveal the full extent of damage to the cyborg’s face.  The skin had given way to the show the yellow, fatty muscle underneath.  Lal’s eyes widened with morbid fascination.

_“But forget it,”_ Lore went on. _“It_ stinks. _It bleeds like a human, it sweats…. What’s next, you? Are you going to piss yourself?”_

“ _Do not be ridiculous,_ ” L1 sputtered. _“I have been constructed without such mimicry that may limit my functional efficiency.”_

_“You’re_ disgusting,” Lal hissed, her eyes narrowed. “ _What even is your purpose?”_

Lore’s hand slid down to the front of his pants, where his move to open his trousers was perceived immediately by all as a threat. “ _Maybe I’ll just have my way with you_ and then throw you in the fucking garbage _.”_

_“Your disposal was necessary.”_ L1 finally seemed to have found a voice to express defense.

_“So you_ do _know about that!”_ Lal growled at L1.

_“Necessary, why?”_

Data, eyes dry, finally climbed up from his place on the ground and joined the other two, standing over L1.

_“Because he was a danger to humans? Or to conceal the nature of your crimes?”_

_“For the last time,”_ L1 pleaded. _“Commander Maddox has committed no crime. Assault is only possible against living creatures._ ”

“ _It’s getting cheeky.”_ Lal looked up at Data. “ _And I’m through listening to it. Father, what are we going to do with it?”_

Lore looked to his brother as well and awaited an answer.

_“We,”_ Data said, delivering what Maddox recognized as his mastery of sarcasm and ironic wit, “ _Are going to_ disassemble it. _So that we can_ learn _from it.”_

\--

“Computer, increase playback speed by four.”

Maddox was relieved by Zeller’s order to bypass the most lurid parts of the video. They all watched the images on the screen speed past them anyway, unable to separate themselves from the same curiosity that Lal showed towards L10X4’s exposed flesh.

Thirty seconds of Lal’s knife shearing the wrap off of the android, exposing its nakedness, identical to Maddox’s own. Ribbons of cloth littered the ground.

Ten seconds of Lal lifting L1’s penis with the edge of her knife for inspection, throwing her head back with laughter, before slicing it off and tossing it aside like a piece of gristle shorn in a butcher’s shop.

Fifteen seconds of L1’s reaction: its knees buckling, its eyes bulging as its hands shot down to its crotch in a futile attempt to keep the eviscerated organ from spurting blood. Its efforts only resulted in the spray’s trajectory, and soon, the three Soongs, the floor, and L1 itself were covered in it. Lore’s tongue passed over his lips.

Five minutes of the Soongs kicking the emasculated cyborg around to each other in a circle, until it lost its balance and fell to the ground. Lore immediately jumped on top of it, straddling its waist, his trousers bulging between his legs while the fountain of blood continued to pulse from its genitals. He was smirking down at L1, and lifted his hand. Lal placed the knife into it.

Twenty minutes of Lore beginning to skin the machine, starting with a straight line underneath its Adam’s apple, and ending at the navel. By the time L1 reached for Lore to defend itself, Data had come around to stand over its head, caught the cyborg by its wrists, and bent them back to remain flush against the ground, standing on its elbows. L1 lifted its head to watch Lore peel back the first layer of skin.

Dr. Iona couldn’t take any more; she dropped her chin as Lal moved towards the opening in the chest. 

Zeller, for some reason, ordered playback to normal.

_“Look at that, Lal, it’s real,”_ Lore said into the pulsating, yellow fat. “ _See how the charges emitted from its nervous system create the living aspect of the tissue?”_

_“Fascinating,_ ” she said breathlessly.

Data began talking just as Zeller ordered the computer to speed playback again.

Thirty minutes as the skinning continued, the circle of blood widening underneath them. Lal slipped on it as she walked around the side of its head; Data caught and steadied her. He and Lore exchanged a few words before Lore stood and Data picked him up from under his arms, blood dripping viscously from its back.

Zeller commanded normal playback again.

At normal speed, Lore took the open flaps of skin on Maddox’s torso and peeled them back, as if undressing a lover, his features overcome by a hazy look in his eyes.

_“This does not hurt me, android,”_ L1 said in a pleading voice. _“I do not feel pride or pain, like you do.”_

Lore ignored him. “ _See, now,”_ he said, his voice hushed. Sinew and muscle fibers pulled and snapped free of the external plating underneath. _“Now, you’re close to beautiful.”_

He pulled L1 in for a deep kiss, his tongue peeking out the sides of their mouths as Data—from behind—took the flaps from the front and _pulled_ , removing the flesh the way a servant would his master’s evening coat.

L1’s eyes sprang open again, all the way. Its hands shot up to push against Lore, but Lore caught its forearms and squeezed, holding them so firm that the skin there broke as well, as his brother continued to expose the blood-streaked metal and servos mechanisms that were previously hidden by the cultivated skin.

Lore’s tongue probed the open incision that Data had left in the corner of its mouth, and then moved to the other side to drag his tongue through the exposed muscle.

Iona excused herself and left, effectively abandoning Maddox to the wolves.

Maddox glanced at Zeller’s profile, where a hint of a smirk appeared. She was enjoying this.

“Alright, that’s enough, Commander,” the Inspector General implored. “Please. Stop playback.”

The video stopped at a still image of Lore pulling away from the replica, wisps of blood, saliva, and biolubricant strung between his lips and the wound.

Zeller and her assistant whirled around to Commander Maddox. The Vulcan handed her the evidence bag the second she held out her hand, and lifted the cellophane up for all to see.

“This is the original media that the information we just saw was recorded on. It was sent to Daystrom in addition to the digital format and arrived after close of business last evening.”

“But why?” Marroquin asked.

Zeller handed the bag back to her assistant, who opened it with her gloved hands and extracted the data chip.

“The chip is covered in blood.” The ensign, with her hand out, went around the room to give each person a chance to examine the item. “Presumably, the cyborg’s.”

“So?”

“Lab results indicate that the blood is identical to that of Commander Maddox’s.”

The IG spoke up. “How is that possible?”

“There’s only one way to replicate that much blood,” Zeller explained.

Maddox swallowed again.

“Biomimetic gel,” Haftel caught himself saying out loud. Maddox gave him a surprised look, but the admiral offered no help with the stern gaze he returned.

All eyes turned towards Maddox.

“Commander.” Marroquin. “I thought Lal was in your possession.”

“I… she… well, yes.”

“So _explain_ this.”

“Commander.” IG. “You were supposed to have _disposed_ of Lore.”

“Yes, well, I did, apparently, but—“

“Admiral Haftel.” Zeller. “Was biomimetic gel approved for Commander Maddox’s use by you, or anyone else?”

“How did you come by such a large quantity of it?”

Maddox looked around.  The room and its occupants began to crush him.

“Commander Data was assigned to you; did you proceed with an unauthorized—“

“What do they mean by ‘violated’?”

“What is the functional capacity of L10X4?”

“How long ago was it constructed?”

“Were you given clearance to carry out a project of such ambitious—“

Haftel finally found his voice.

“Gentlemen,” he bellowed, bringing the informal line of questioning to a halt. “I believe there are more appropriate measures to this. For now, I suggest we take a much needed break.”

“Fine with me,” Zeller said. She gestured for her assistant to put the device back into the bag, and dismissed her. She walked up to Maddox and looked him directly in the eye. “Just make sure you—and the _doctor_ —are available for interviews tomorrow.”

One by one, the guests filed out. Marroquin’s adjutant stopped recording on his              PADD and followed his admiral. Marroquin himself took one look at Maddox, shook his head, and exited.

When he and Haftel were alone, Maddox dropped his arms and closed his eyes.  He had all but forgotten his fever and the burn in his throat.

Haftel moved slowly around Maddox to sit behind his desk. He swung the monitor around to face him, his elbow leaning against the hard surface to cradle his forehead.

Maddox finally tried to speak.

“Admiral, I—“

“Get out.”

Maddox stared at his closest ally in disbelief. He leaned forward on the desk, desperately. “Anthony, I—“

“It’s an _order_ , Maddox. I don’t have anything to say. I don’t even know what to think. This is the result of _favors_ you ask me for?” Disgusted, Haftel waved him away. “Get out. Out of my face.”

Without any other option, Maddox started for the door.

“They’re… _machines_ , Anthony. That’s _all_.”

Haftel fast forwarded the video to the end and unpaused the playback.

Data had torn the replica’s ribcage from its skeletal frame and was holding it in two pieces, smiling as if offering an audience a hard-won trophy. Lore and Lal had succeeded in pulling the thing’s skull—the only part of Maddox’s creation that still had its skin—from the rest of the frame, its bloody spinal column dangling in the air.

“Yes, these are _machines_ , Maddox.”

The door slid open for Maddox. He turned to go, but stopped as he heard Lore’s voice.

Lore, looking directly into the camera, cradled L1’s head close to him, upside down.

_“Do you hear me, Maddox?”_ His tongue slid into its empty right eye socket.

L1, its voice now mechanized and silvery, stuttered “ _C-c-c omm-aa-aaa-nder Ma-dd-ox…”_

Maddox re-entered Haftel’s office when his double addressed him. It was all he could do not to reach out to it, to re-assure it that its purpose would have amounted to something grander than what it came to.

_“R-r-….rrrrrun.”_

Lore chuckled lustily as Lal cut the green optic cables that connected the cyborg’s brain to the rest of its body. Its eyes dimmed permanently.

“And we,” Haftel said, “Are animals.”

Data dumped the ribcage onto the floor in front of him, his eyes glimmering with a different sort of heat as his mouth hardened into a tight, angry line.

Lal ran the blade through her lips.

“ _You are_ so _fucked.”_

Playback ended.

**Author's Note:**

> This is really part of a larger AU fic I'm working on involving Data, Lal and Lore vs. Maddox, completely inspired by Imp's "Tell Me." Since Gorrlaus created such a beautiful piece to it, I decided to go ahead and write this part, and it ended up being long enough to stand alone.
> 
> I'm returning to writing after a long break, and I'm sure I'm rusty, so please: any concrit or questions would be a m a z i n g. :)


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